Lantern Light
by Subtle Shenanigans
Summary: Sometimes he doesn't have a choice. My take on Beast!Wirt, written at one AM. UNBETA'D, R & R please.


**EDIT: Oh dear lorg, this is a mess. What the diddly dang. And I forgot the tree branches climbing his limbs.**

 **A/N: so in starting this at one in the morning and will write it over the next few days.**

 **If you though I wasn't going to write Beast!Wirt then you are dead wrong.**

 **My favourite set up is that the original Beast was a corrupt version, that The Beast is needed to keep down too many Edelwood Trees - even going so far as to help some lost souls out of The Unknown. But as it grew greedy, it began to need more and more oil to burn to stay alive.**

 **The Woodsman** _ **did**_ **in fact blow out the Lantern; it's the woods of The Unknown itself that found a suitable soul (** _ **Wirt**_ **) to light the Lantern with. He ends up sending Greg and himself home but is eventually drawn back into The Unknown, where his soul is lit into the Dark Lantern, and he is his own Lantern Bearer.**

 **That doesn't mean he doesn't need to be proactive about the Edelwood - if the Lantern burns too low and there is no nearby trees, he must turn Lost Souls himself. That's what this in particular will be about.**

 **It's not completely "evil", as animals kill one another for food. And it never specified if it must be children, or human souls. Only that they lose hope.**

 **I also have a theory that's sorta unrelated; most agree with The Unknown being Purgatory. I like to think that you can only get 'lost' there by almost dying, and/or portals through water.**

 **Sorry Greg's not in this. I just can't do that sweet boy Justice. Maybe next time.**

 **DISCLAIMER** **: I do not own this beautiful masterpiece of a show.**

* * *

 _Lantern Light_

* * *

The light flickers, casting impossible illumination on the dark shade of the trees and to a lesser degree on the figure carrying it.

It's Bearer walks briskly, cape fluttering about with tattered, torn edges briefly flicking into its waning , wispy branches climb the figure's arms and legs, curling gently on his shoulders under the cloak, with little leaves shyly peeking out. The rest of the figure is draped in shadow, clothing worn and dusty - but not completely dirty - face darkened despite the burning eyes that, while initially appearing white, are composed of four pastel colors strangely fitted together in rings. His head is messy dark locks under a pointed ruddy cone, which is beginning to be surpassed by a set of jutting, leafy antlers.

The Lantern winks its reminder, the Bearer, ( _The Beast_ ), not changing his hurried pace, but feeling it's fading warmth in his chest.

( _It's the only warmth he_ can _feel now, his body only stuck with the feeling of chilly autumn breezes. He can't feel true cold, either_.)

An ache has been spreading in him for a few days. Wirt can no longer eat most foods, and those that he can cannot fill the gaping hole burning wider in him. He lets his feet, and natural instinct guide him to more oil. But they keep bringing him back to the same route; the same place. It can only mean one thing.

There's no trees close enough.

Even with abnormal speed and strength, he won't make it.

Which wouldn't be that big of a problem if a squirrel or something would get lost. He actually doesn't mind the feeling ( _flavor?_ ) of burning oil from small animals. It's the human ones that bother him.

" _Lost, shining lights;_

 _Left entirely forgotten -_

 _The flame cries aloud_

 _for fear of the Unknown."_

A little boy, maybe thirteen (?), with a mop of dirty blond hair wanders betwixt the trees, head turning this way and that to see between the gaps. He is already losing hope, fast. Thinking he's braver than he actually is, realizing that the mark of 'teen' doesn't make him any more capable than when he was twelve.

He wants his mother.

He's barely two years younger than Wirt was.

" _But the wayfaring soul,_

 _burning bright within them,_

 _cannot find their way_

 _back on their own. . ._ "

It's the song Wirt would normally sing, to lead lost ones ( _mostly little ones_ ) out and on the path back home. It's more of a driven poem, but humans seem to like it well enough.

But he can't actually sing it, as his throat is beginning to feel parched. Numbness is tingling his toes and fingers, making its way to his hands. There's a ringing in his ears and his vision is going funny, eyes watering as his senses zero in.

 _But I don't want to. . . !_

Wirt stops suddenly. Feet crunching on the snow. But he has too. He has to or the flame will go out and he'll die and someone less benevolent will become The Beast and none will have a chance and he will _die_ -

He remembers every moment in perfectly clarity as it happens, though he wishes he didn't.

 _Vines creeping and weaving and-_

 _The kid turns, too-bright eyes wide and mouth morphing with terror-_

" _Hey kid, I'm Wirt. What's your name?"_

" _M-matthias."_

 _But they merely encircle his ankles, friendly-like, as he gives a sad smile to the kid and shrugs, telling him he's sorry but the kid won't make it home because it's hopeless, you see? The woods are too big and you've already been gone too long._

" _I'm so sorry."_

 _And the kid breaks down crying because he knows, oh dear heavens he_ _ **knows**_ _, so he does not notice nor fight when the bark begins to grow around him, slowly and achingly until the sobs subside to nothing but the sighing of leaves and creak of new wood, and Wirt cannot move but merely watch, legs gone numb and ringing intensified. He cries, tears that catch the light oddly in that the face under them cannot be seen in true light, not very well, and he takes the axe out to chop the wood and directly pitch a few spindly branches coated black into the soul-flame._

Because,

the truth is this.

( _And it's a horrible thing_.)

It's these trees, grown from lost humans, that burn and feel the best.

He gives his respects to little Matthias, thanking him, and wishing he had the guts to blow out that stupid flame once and for all.

But eventually, Wirt gets up, dragging himself and the Lantern and the axe, and continues on his way, planning to come back and harvest more oil later.

" _ **So let the one of the dark and**_

 _ **the further most forest,**_

 _ **guide you for a Pilgrim he is;**_

 _ **His journeys are never forgotten,**_

 _ **And the light of his Lamp is sure**_

 _ **To bring you home.**_ "


End file.
